Swing and A Miss
by Pmrising
Summary: Elsa the star softball player for The Snowflakes has a terrible, dirty, not-so-little secret. Anna discovers the mystery on her own. And she's persistent to heal all the wounds caused by it. Even the less literal ones.
1. Chapter 1

**So I'm back. Better then ever, kinda doing my thing, moving at a slow pace, taking my damn sweet time. But look! I finished the softball fic that one person on tumblr recommended to me (totally forgot their name sorry).**

**I hope you enjoy Swing And A Miss, it's got 2-3 chapters? Not a big deal. Not a big story. Kinda just... a cute little story about softball...cuddles...maybe some angst.**

**Probably some angst.**

**Heh.**

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Swing And A Miss - Chapter 1

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Our team is bad. We're halfway through the hot, thick, smoldering heat of summer, and we haven't won a single game yet. Though I'm sure it has something to do with never having practices, comfortable equipment, and a decent coach to guide us. I'm positive, by now, that joining the Panthers' softball team has been the worst decision of my life.

We're not part of a school, just a mediocre softball team, or more like a bunch of girls with matching shirts and hats, laughing and swinging bats like they're play toys.

Although my teammates are okay with the idea of being the town losers, I, on the other hand, am not.

I want to win.

I want to win so badly I stay awake at night thinking about what a winner's trophy looks like. My dreams are crowded with specks of gold, tall plastic framed and planked over my bedframe. I'm disgusted with my obsession, but revel in the fact that I am indeed turning into a bit of a softball maniac. I need an intervention fast.

"We're playing against the Snowflake girls."

I look over at Ronda, chewing my sandwich slowly. "What?"

"Y'know, the-"

"I know who they are," I say carefully, standing from the bench. This was our chance to get noticed. To be something. Sure, the Panthers are weak, but we can always hide in the grass and wait to pounce on our prey. Especially if our prey is a little snowflake. But then again- "They have that blond on their team, the pitcher."

"Who?"

She went to a different school than the rest of us. Though she lived on our cul-de-sac, she was outcast by all the others for attending a rich, catholic school a few miles west. Although I'd never seen Elsa, only heard of her, it barely harbored my strange fascination for her.

The Snowflakes all attend the Catholic school, a prim and proper sort of educational system, which certainly did not show when their softball players were on the diamond. They wore their shirts with the sleeves rolled up to their shoulders, mitts firm and dusty, hats turned and lopsided, black spits of paint smeared along their high cheekbones. No, they weren't those girls with the skirts to their knee, makeup, hair up in a certain way, jackets and bags the same – no, they were a whole different group of girls on the field. They were firm, strong, a team. I envied them.

And their leader was none one other than Elsa herself, a golden beauty, the very finesse of the team. Happy and grinning with conviction, she could pitch on the dime, hand swung back like a damn piston. They call her swinger, or even ice queen, named after the infamous look she gives you right before the pitch, that one damn little quirk of the brow, the grit of her teeth – its fast, if you blink you'd miss it – and suddenly you're out. The ball whirls by you in a second. You're down for the count. A disgrace.

Oddly, even though the Snowflakes were ideally our enemy, there was something so right about Elsa being up on that plate in the center. She seemed to be the sun and everyone just orbited her, gravitated around her, revolved around her. She was the leader. The spirit of the team. The very groundbreaking thing you need on your team to win.

When the game ended, the Panthers lost. After our coach reprimanded us in the yellow bus we traveled on, I stumbled out onto the field, alone, at sunset and kicked my feet against the plate with annoyance. I toyed with my cap, the bill facing behind me. I imagined our team winning, for once. I imagined our damn trophy. Our victory lap. Our rewards. Crowds cheering our names. Signing autographs-

I hear a sharp clanging in a shed near the field, usually where we keep our rusty tools and equipment. I open the doors expecting to find a squirrel, but instead I come across Elsa.

Her hair is wild, she's sweaty, and from the looks of it, she's been crying. But either way she grins at me with a smile from ear to ear, which is a little frustrating.

"Are you okay?"

"I was locked in there for a couple of minutes," she mutters. "But I'm fine now."

"How long is a couple of minutes?" I stare at her. "Our game ended hours ago. You should be home by now."

She blinks quickly and fixes her hat. "I guess it was a long couple of minutes."

I'm shocked, and a bit confused. "Who did this to you? Who locked you in our shed?"

She shrugs and laughs it off coolly. "Just having a little fun."

Elsa must not know, now that's she's stepped into the sunlight, that I can see the bruises on her wrists, the scar on her lip, the dent in her nose, or maybe she's just pretending her little imperfections don't exist. Maybe she's just so used to them being marked into her skin that she forgets about the open wounds and cuts sometimes. The errors all mix into your flesh; soon enough you don't even see them anymore, they're just specks of ugliness you'd much rather ignore than embrace.

After moments of staring, Elsa's nose begins to bleed softly, and I gasp and search for a tissue.

"Ah-" She touches her nose, looks at the blood. "I get- Um- chronic nosebleeds all the time so-"

"Find a napkin," I mutter, searching my pockets and then-

She lifts her shirt. She lifts her damn shirt, and I see pale, glistening, sweaty abs, and that's all I'll ever see. My mind goes blank. My tongue becomes stiff and fat. I'm staring at her taunt skin, and I'm watching it shift and move like a hawk. I immediately feel my cheeks darken, my eyes widen, I'm seconds away from touching - I just want one feel, one touch. I need to embrace the hard, tender flex of muscle under my fingertips.

Suddenly, in the midst of my gawking, a fantasy comes to play – Elsa underneath me, shuffling, gasping, she's naked, and I can see everything. But, God, I'm kissing her stomach, licking that sticky, wet skin - flicking my tongue just across the surface. It's pale, it's golden, it's glistening, it twitches under my teeth, and I nibble softly at the sharp touch-

"Are you okay?" she says, a bit of teasing to her voice. I look up to find her stuffing her nose with the edge of her shirt. The blood spreads around her fingers, the cloth, and I desperately want to help her.

"I'm fine," my voice is incredibly hoarse. I glance at her once more. "You're hot- I mean, okay. You're okay, right?" I stutter horribly and look down at my cleats in absolute humiliation.

"I'm fine."

"And you're okay with just using your shirt for now?"

"Well-" She stares at me. "I could always use your t-shirt."

She laughs when I blush immediately. I'm shuddering and fumbling with my words. I seem to have developed a crush on the beautiful softball player, Elsa. What a fabulous shock, a little sophomore falling for a senior. It's so damn cliché.

"Who locked you in the shed?" I mutter to her finally. "You can tell me."

Her smile is replaced with absolute flakiness. "Oh, you know. My friends."

"Friends don't lock friends into sheds," I can see her eye is a bit swollen, bruising slowly. "Are you talking about your teammates?"

She shrugs, "It's all fun." She laughs. "Really."

I look around, "Your teammates left without you, too?"

She nods, bashfully, humiliated, and we both feel a bit of shame, being in the same boat and all.

We decide to walk home together, and on the way there, Elsa completely rips off her shirt. I keep my focus and eyes straight ahead on the road because honestly, Elsa looks too damn feminine to be able to throw a softball around and make it look so easy. She has some muscle, but it's soft. She's firm though, tight, and it's a damn beautiful thing, especially with the summer air steaming around us.

I eventually remove my shirt, and we walk around the cul-de-sac in our sport bras, shuffling along the cracked sidewalk talking lowly. I think the heat is making it harder to talk to her, we're both so sweaty – our clothes are already halfway gone-

"How long have you been playing softball?" I ask her softly. "A while?"

"Since freshman year. You?"

"A few months ago," I smile, my next words quaking. "You're really good at pitching."

"Well, you're the best on your team by far," She glances at me, and I try hard to look away, my blush is radiating. "I can tell you're the only one who practices."

"I hate my teammates," I mutter, causing Elsa to laugh.

"Me too," she agrees. We both know why, and that's kind of terrible.

Elsa walks me to my house, her nose has stopped bleeding, but she'll definitely have a black eye by tomorrow. She'll probably wear long sleeves and too much make up. It's a shame. She has beautiful thin arms, and her eyes are too amazing to be covered with creams and moisturizers.

When I make my way to the front door and unlock it, I turn to see Elsa waiting by my driveway, shirtless. I take the time to take it all in and then I realize she's waiting for me to enter the house, as if to make sure I'm home safe and sound. My heart swells and I scream out, "They're probably all jealous of you!"

She quirks her head.

"That's why I found you in the shed!" I cup my mouth. "They're all jealous of your amazing talent! And you really can't let them bring you down!"

I watch soundlessly as Elsa's smile spreads from ear to ear. Though covered in blood and battered up, she's never looked more beautiful. She could be standing in the center of that damn diamond, but it wouldn't dare compare to the joy that's radiating from her now.

I enter my house quickly after that.

It's a Sunday morning when Elsa's knocks at my door with a pair of sweats, a loose baggy shirt, that looks like her father's, and a cap over her head. Her scars and bruises are out and proud, one eye swollen, itching to be relieved. I wince when I see her, purely out of the painful sight before me. She's grinning, carrying a backpack over her shoulder, hands in her pockets. "Wanna go practice?"

I'm out the door in seconds, wearing some shorts and a t-shirt, my cap flying off my head as I follow Elsa to the local park's baseball field. And once we arrive, laughing foolishly-

"Sorry ladies, we're practicing here today."

I shift behind Elsa, suddenly a group of boys swarm around us. They look vicious, like they just might beat us to death with the bats in their hands and the gloves shielding their fists. Elsa stands tall though, never moving out from under their shadows.

"Everyone deserves a chance to use the field," she remarks calmly. "We don't even need the bases, just a little room off to the side-"

"Go back home," one of them says.

"This is a _baseball_ field, not a softball field."

I can feel Elsa tense at their words. Then her eyebrows curve spectacularly. "It doesn't matter what kind of field it is, I bet I can still kick your ass on it."

They all laugh and awe in wonder at her words. I'm completely fascinated at this point, absolutely charmed off my damn feet. What a trooper. What a damn maniac. Ah- Elsa's insane. Or maybe just a bit too brave for her own good.

"Can you hit it out of the park?" One of them mutters. "Can you strike one of us out?"

"I can beat you all single-handedly," she growls. "And if I do, you let Anna and I use the field."

"It'll be good practice-"

"We won't even break a sweat!"

"Hit one ball out of the park and the field is yours. The whole thing."

They laugh at us.

"And if you lose…"

"You get to go on a date with some of us!" they proclaim, all high fiving and cheering.

I've never been on a date before. My only kiss was one horribly awkward moment with Kristoff in the eighth grade. I remember sweaty, clammy palms on my shoulders and spit covering my lips. I shiver behind Elsa as she coos me with the touch of her cooling fingers. They're delicate, firm, how the hell does she throw with such slender long feminine touches?

"Deal."

I'm scared beyond believe. First of all, my whole dating experience is now in the hands of a one teenage girl I barely even know. Second, we're playing against boys. Men. Males. They have muscles and thick wits. Anger blossoms in their chests easier, especially when competing, and now I'm going to have to date one of them.

Soon, I'm watching from the baseline with the boys all around me, grinning at me, talking to me, I feel a lamb among wolves, and I'm frightened. My eyes are set on Elsa though, as she swigs her bat around, toying with the handle a bit. It's wooden, so it's probably heavier than the hollow softball bats. I watch her tap her cleats on the plate. I watch the sun beam before her, illuminating her figure.

_That's Elsa._

The boy throws, and she swings.

Miss.

The boys all cheer and mock.

The boy throws, and Elsa swings once more.

Miss again.

The boys are howling. I can see Elsa's a bit tense, distracted, and then I stand defiantly and tell them all to shut up. They're distracting her. Causing a damn riot. "Let her fucking concentrate!" I announce, my hands in fists firmly at my sides. I watch all the boys sit stiffly in their seats, their eyes on the ground or maybe at the trees in the distance, but my eyes are on Elsa. I'm silently cheering her on. She glances at me, and we make eye contact – right there was the pivotal moment of this day. This sort extremely crazy experience. Elsa and I were suddenly a team. A team of two. Kindred spirits. We made this strange connection the second our eyes locked, and honestly, I believe now it will never be the same.

Elsa's grin fades then, and she turns, shifting along the base, bat firmly in hand, shaking a bit from such a grip placed upon it.

When the pitcher throws the next ball Elsa hits it with the crack of her bat, and it goes soaring over the fence and into the woods.

The boys are silent.

I jump up and cheer and clap. Elsa grabs me and twirls me around as we laugh and jump in merriment. We watch the boys leave soundlessly and celebrate with a few cans of beer they forgot to grab when they left. Elsa and I drank, cracked the bottles, and hit them with our bats. The field was ours. We can do whatever we want.

"So, why do you hate your teammates?" she asks me, throwing the ball into my mitt with ease.

I catch, "They don't practice. They think softball is just one big game."

"Well it is, isn't it?" she chuckles, her mitt in front of her mouth, which I find to be incredibly adorable.

"Still."

"No, come on-" She catches my throw. "Think about it- Softball is just a big game. So, if you treat it like one, and not some huge big military practice, it's just…" she shrugs, "Fun."

I step forward a bit when I catch her next throw, "You're right, it's a game. But it's a game I want to win."

"So win."

"Well, how can I when my team sucks?" I holler, sending the ball flying. I feel embarrassed, but it fades when Elsa takes off and jumps up for the errant throw. She catches it spectacularly and then sends it back with as much force.

I catch, stare at the ball and bite my lip, "Why do you hate your team, Elsa?"

It's like stepping into the deep end. Walking towards the edge of a cliff. I'm getting closer and closer to this sort of downfall of a realization. I already have my suspicions about why Elsa hates her team, but I want to hear it from her mouth first. To settle my frittering nerves. To calm my quick, shameful eyes against her bruises and bumps. I want to know Elsa. Really know her. Become this strange sort of crutch if I can.

For some reason, I want her to ruin me. Fill me with this knowledge, this terrible curse, thrust upon her. It doesn't seem as much of a burden for me, and I feel as if that's a good thing for someone like Elsa.

She shrugs, but doesn't answer. I look at her thin arms once again, a giant bruise, swelling against the forearm, they must have-

"You're all really good," I say, throwing the ball.

She catches, "Well, we just play to have fun. It's not all about winning, you know?"

"Well, you say that now because you win_ every_ game."

"Because we don't take it so seriously," she grins sheepishly at me. "It's just softball, Anna."

I take her words into slight consideration. But it still isn't enough to tame the wild competitive beast in my heart just itching for a taste of success. I want it. I need it. I crave it.

Elsa then notices my wilting form and then catches my ball with ease. "Okay, how about you lead the team? Take that stand and bring your team to victory. Set up practices, take control."

"I think I will," I mutter back with a small smile.

For a short break, we drink the last of the beers. Though in the midst of our celebration party of two, Elsa's lip starts to bleed again, and she feverishly goes through her backpack, pulling out a new Band-Aid.

With itching, feverish fingers, I help her place it carefully, trying hard not to stare. Her lips are so soft, gentle against the curve of my fingertips. This sudden, unexplainable warmth blossoms and blooms inside of my chest. I'm on fire. Burning internally. I can barely breathe, so I hold my breath and pray I won't melt in the hot summer sun. I'm sure she can see it. I'm bright red.

But all through it Elsa's eyes are attentive, kind. I can't help but chance a glance.

When I do, we just stare. We stare and- I feel this sort of pull, this weird internal energy telling me to just go for it. Just do it. Do what's been circling my mind all week. All day. All fucking _forever._

"We should probably head home. I have practice soon so…" Elsa moves back and pats the Band-Aid down with her fingertips.

I feel a range of emotions. Though the one in the forefront of my mind is definitely humiliation. I shrug off the obvious denial and help Elsa pack. We kick the beer cans around and once she walks me home I turn to her, "I think the Panthers are going to have practice too."

Elsa smiles and nods, "Now you're getting it."

I grin sheepishly at my shoes. The sun is so pretty at this time of day. A sort of shy sunset. How long have we been throwing a ball around? It's so calming. Catch and throw. Catch and throw. Easy, once you've got the hang of it.

Elsa waits for me to get to my front door once more. When I do, I turn to see her, sweaty, happily waving at me with her cap lopsided. I feel a pinch of guilt, knowing that she's going to practice and head home afterwards with a fresh set of cuts. I hope they're natural scars, caused by the ground, by the earth beneath our feet. There's something kind of calming about that. Elsa with normal, natural bruises. Dirt in her cuts, instead of the imprint of people's fingers sapped deep within her flesh.

I feel sick, watching her stumble off down the road, hat in her hand – I can feel her fear, even from out on my porch. I can practically see her shaking. This shuddering, shaking, beautiful darkened form engulfed by the afternoon sunlight.

She's not going to practice.

She's going to a damn death sentence.

Ever since then, the Panthers have had daily practices. Days are spent throwing, batting, pitching – we're a team finally. Though I'm the one lugging the equipment, getting welts on my legs from poorly thrown balls, and exhausted from scheduling and planning, we're becoming this sort of unit. I can feel us growing stronger. We all know each other's names. We all know how we throw, how we pitch, how we hit with the clack of our bats. I'm in love with softball, I'm in love with achieving, and it's all because of Elsa.

The Panthers are winning every game. Our cheers are stronger. People sit on our side of the fence. We have a following. In a sense, we're champions. The underdogs were finally swinging the bat.

It's about two weeks later when I'm walking home from practice, and I see a wilting, crumbled body curled up by the edge of the sidewalk before my house. I walk by soundlessly, a bit fearful of the stranger, darkened by the hood over their head, before I see a small peaking flicker of blond braid and-

"Elsa?" I move closer. "Elsa-"

Then I see really see her; Elsa, poor, frail, dejected Elsa, covered with bruises and scars of all kinds. She's been beaten. Badly. I'm afraid a pool of blood will start pouring around her soon. Once I pull her hood back and cradle her head with shaky, gentle fingers, I push some of her hair aside to take a look at now, two black eyes; her sleeve moves up quickly and is clasped at her nose. It's bleeding.

"I get-" She's crying. God she's trying so hard to hold it all in. These shaky sobs are just fucking starving, begging, to be released. "I get chronic nosebleeds."

I pull her close and feel the blood hit my shirt. "Elsa." I keep saying her name. Oh, Elsa. Oh, God, Elsa. "I'm so sorry." I should have done something. I shouldn't have let her go. Why must I be so hesitant? So damn fearful?

I'm trying hard to keep it all together, because Elsa, the star softball player for The Snowflakes, who is being beaten by her falsely loyal teammates, is sobbing on my shirt uncontrollably. I hold her close, pushing her head so far into my shirt I'm positive I'm suffocating her. But, God, I want her to be as close as possible, as if I'm holding all her cracked broken pieces together with my inadequate hands, hands that have caught the softballs she's thrown, hands that have helped place Band-Aids on the very cuts I'm helplessly watching grow worse now.

"Come on-" I mutter, my voice quivering, but I keep it together. I push it down so far I hope it disappears. "Let's get inside."

"I didn't know where else to go," her voice is raspy, probably from all the screaming she's done lately. "I didn't have…" She eases off the subject. I don't question a thing.

I help her inside of my house, one shaky step at a time, and when I finally get past my parents, we carefully strip off her clothes. It's there that I notice her welts. When I see them I almost vomit. There are large, gaping wounds, strewn down her back, as if men have physically beaten her. As if a group of people have beaten her-

"Elsa." She's turned towards the bathtub, her back facing me, arms clutched tightly to her side as if I'm examining her. "Who did this to you?" I whisper carefully, timidly.

She doesn't answer me. I don't think she can, but I already know her answer. At that point, I take a damp, light, cooling towel and palm her scars carefully. She hisses, bends a bit and then seems to try to understand and control the pain. It has to be immense. I can feel her quivering beneath my clothed fingers, and I'm frantically trying to move carefully but quickly. Next are her arms, covered with bruises. Then her shoulders. Ribs. Thighs. Knees. Everything has been hit. Every little inch has been attacked.

When I finally reach her front, I contain my roaming eyes. I respect vigorously, doubt in my mind of lewdly searching Elsa's body. I don't care about my crush right now. All I care is about the poor, shaking, shivering mess before me – Elsa is a mess. An absolute mess and I want to see her in my bed, with my sheets pulled up to her chin, safe and sound, for the rest of my life.

She lifts her arms as I carefully pull a light, white t-shirt over her head; then I walk her towards my bed. She's soundless, completely still. Her eyes are black and blue, she can barely see out of one of them. Then she turns, touches one and winces. "Do I look ugly?"

I shake my head, guide her into my bed, and tuck her in carefully. "You look beautiful," I say firmly because I mean it. "You're the most beautiful girl I've ever met."

She falls asleep after the first few minutes. Though I could hear her shifting. Every position must hurt her. Burn her. I don't sleep in bed with her. Instead, I fall asleep on the chair I was carefully watching her from. I'm a guard dog. I'm protecting the princess, protecting and guiding. I'll clean her wounds. I'll help her heal. I'll be there when she has no one. I can take the blame. I can take the doubt. God, I'll do anything for Elsa. Not out of pity or this weird internal motherly figure deep within me, but maybe out of this eternal love I have growing and palpitating within each second of my life with her, Elsa.

When the morning comes around, I'm stiff from slumbering in a chair. My back aches, my head is thumping and Elsa is gone.

It's not two days later that I find her by the park, swinging her bat with such rage I can hear the wind howling at the swing of her thrusts. The closer I get, the more I see; cuts, more bruises, she's mad. Furious. I can fucking feel it in the air. It's palpable. It's crushing and overbearing. The whole diamond is swimming in it, anger and aggression. Every swing zooms by with rage. Every tilt of her heel is like a spark of emotion, just slipping out, just barely revealing itself. Elsa is at the end of her rope and it's obvious. Suddenly, the bat gets a bit too close, and I jump backwards in fear-

"Anna-" Elsa drops the weapon and pushes her sweaty bangs back. She's at my side in minutes, helping me up with two shaky hands. "I'm sorry, I-"

I'm a bit confused. Rightly so given her disappearance. "Where did you go?" I'm clasping her hands tightly. She knows what I'm talking about. She knows I woke up alone in my bedroom, her clothes were gone, the blood was cleaned- I see her eye, a fresh bruise, and it makes my heart clench in fear, in absolute panic. "Please, just let me help you."

"Help with what?"

"Elsa-"

"Anna, I don't need help with anything," she pulls me up. "Maybe with my swinging, but certainly not-"

"Hurting them back won't make it better," my voice is suddenly so firm. "If anything, it'll just make it worse."

Elsa doesn't reply, just fixes her hat and starts swinging again.

"Why don't you just leave the Snowflakes?"

Her bat swings harder. Her heel digs deeper at the pivot.

"You don't have to stick around for them. Let them lose without you."

She squeezes her eyes at this next swing. I feel the breeze hit me softly.

"How did you get that bruise on your leg?"

"A low throw."

"Elsa-"

"Anna," her voice comes out clouded with fear, ragged, completely disoriented. I'm stiff, paralyzed with embarrassment as I just notice the faint blurriness in my vision, and my emotions mirrored on Elsa's face. While we stand still on the diamond, the summer birds' chirp long and hard in the distance. I can hear children playing on the jungle gym near us, the smell of trees wafts gently around me, and Elsa is crying. "Leave me alone," she says.

I just want to help. I just want to be there for her. I want to be her crutch, her guide. Maybe I'm treating Elsa like a patient, instead of this person in need. I feel cruel suddenly, completely disgusting.

"The Panthers are always open for new members," I say finally. "You can come anytime."

She goes back to her swinging, though it's not as harsh, maybe a bit more relaxed too. I can't help but imagine her beating the living hell out of her teammates, tormenting them with each thrust. She pulls back, lets it rip right into their faces- it fills me with absolute joy, so I can't even begin to imagine what such a fantasy does for Elsa.

"And thanks for cleaning up your blood before you left," I tell her. "It was everywhere."

Then I'm gone.

"Have you heard?"

That question always makes my ears prick with interest. I already know what my teammates are going to gossip about.

"About that blonde on the Snowflakes?" Amber questions.

I watch soundlessly from my seat, my fingers twisting and turning around one another. I haven't seen Elsa in days. She isn't at the park near my house anymore practicing. She doesn't show up at my doorstep randomly. It's as if she's disappeared. I can't help but imagine her a beaten bloody mess-

"Have you seen the bruises on her? I swear her father's beating her."

"No, she's just bullied."

"Poor thing."

"Oh please, she just wants everyone to know about the bruises! Why doesn't she just cover them up?" Jessica folds her arms. "She's an attention whore."

I feel anger swell deep within my gut, but I keep silent, continuing to pick at my nails.

"We should help her."

"She obviously doesn't see anything wrong with being bullied if she's sporting those kinds of bruises."

Alice leaned close then. "I hear her dad beats her too y'know." She winces. "Hurts her bad."

"I bet she eggs him on. She seems like the bossy type."

"Why should we even care? She's our enemy."

"But she's still-"

"The Snowflakes kicked our ass last time, and it was because of her-"

I rise then, my hands slapping down upon the table so hard I even scared myself in the process. I felt this unquenchable rage, absolute disgust. I hated my teammates, even if they were a bit talented now – how they talk about Elsa, as if she's just a regular girl, a common simpleton, it's filthy to me.

"Don't talk about her like that," I say. "She's going through a really hard time."

Alice smiles at me then, grin stretching ear to ear. "I heard you kissed her."

My face, once red with anger, now blooms embarrassment, and I toy with my hat eagerly. "That's just a rumor."

"Don't try to fix a girl like her," Jessica sternly reprimands. "It's not worth it."

"Unfixable."

"A lost cause."

I can't listen to them anymore. I can't hear the impossibilities and the possibilities. I'm at the end of my rope as I frantically claw my gear together and dismiss practice, ignoring the blunt calls from my teammates.

At this point I'm running, just running. My bag clumps heavily against me and my legs sprint and my hands jut out before me like bullets, but really, I have no idea where I'm heading. My feet can take me anywhere; I just need to distract myself from Elsa. The bruises. The scars. I feel horrible, completely helpless. I'm powerless, frail and weak. I'm sickened that I can't help her. I'm a failure.

At some point, when I'm deep in the bowels of the forest circling our small cul-de-sac, I hear faint, harsh whispers, and I follow them cautiously.

After spinning around a large oak tree, my heart stops at the sight before me. Elsa is curled up on the grassy ground as her teammates relentlessly beat her half to death. The sunset makes it look even worse, their beautiful darkened bodies hovering over the girl of my dreams. The trees stretch out their shadows, causing these exaggerated lines to spread out over the beating. The cawing of crows faintly pierces my ears and snaps me out of whatever panic attack I almost endured as I sprint to the Snowflakes and bash one of them in the head with my bag.

She tumbles over, grabbing her head with an anguished cry.

"What the _fuck_ are you doing?" I exclaim fearfully. I reach for Elsa but the world goes flying and sharp excruciating pain cuts through my stomach, as if something is jutting from inside my ribs.

I fall and only when I'm on the ground do I realize I have been punched in the gut. When I look up through a thick blurry vision at the four shadowy bodies hovering over me, it occurs to me suddenly that I might just die here. That there's a possibility they will actually beat me to death.

I scream then, kicking and wailing, taking quick nervous looks at Elsa who seems to be lying there dead.

Another horrific jut of pain stretches throughout my entire frame, and I cry a horrible whiny sob of anguish. I'm useless, a failure, lost as I flimsily roll around, trying to understand where all the pain is coming from and why it's all being directed to the same place at a horrifyingly easy pace.

I think they're kicking me. I think they're wearing cleats.

I feel the bolus of something warm bubble up against my throat, and before I know it, through the trauma, the fear and unexplainable beatings, I vomit. I release my bile with a shaky cough and just before I'm kicked again I see bits of red in my emesis . I scream. Although my strangled cry is likely heard by no one, I continue to relentlessly holler pleas of help into the midday air. I pray to god that the kicks will end soon, that it'll only last a few more minutes.

I pray that maybe, somehow, I can continue to keep my eyes open just a bit wider. Stare at Elsa's crippled form a bit harder. Silently hope she'll be okay just a tiny bit longer.

But the pain keeps thundering back, the excruciating, horrible agony is almost too much to bear, and I eventually give up my struggle, allowing the swift kicks to collide into my ribs and stomach without fail.

I'm motionless suddenly, everything is numb, and my last thoughts are drowned out by my breathy, horribly frail whimpers, cries that seem to rip out of my throat just by sheer habit.

At some point, during my beatings, the hollering and laughing becomes faint, distant cries. I think the Snowflakes walked away or discovered some sort of other prey to feast upon. I feel bare, naked, open, ripped apart from the very seams.

I'm pathetic.

This is how Elsa feels.

After moments of miserable silence, filled with the loud cawing of crows, I shift slightly to glance at Elsa.

"Elsa-" My voice is scratchy, and I crawl through the dirt for her, to maybe clasp onto her hand, to feel her pulse, to see if she's still breathing. "Elsa?"

No response.

I move slightly, and my whole side sets on fire, I growl lowly and rise with two shaky arms. My back aches. I feel like they've stabbed me, sharp painful streaks of pain stab all throughout my torso and body. I fall, never feeling so weak in my life. It's as if all of my strength has been sapped right out of me. I know I must have bruises all up and down my ribs. I know I must be down for the count. I want to sleep, close my eyes, but there's this noise in the back of my head, begging me to check Elsa, screaming at me to protect her.

Then, Elsa moves, just barely. I can see her shift with the sunset behind her. She is this shadowy figure with the sun gleaming behind her. She's scary. Terrifying. There are cuts and scrapes along her beautiful face, eyes swollen shut, with dirt and mud in her hair. Her fists are clutched tightly, blood dripping from her lips.

With this silent energy she helps me up and wipes the blood from my face with her shirt. It's the most endearing thing I've ever experienced, and we stumble home in the darkness together.

We don't talk. We don't make a damn sound.

It's funny how we walked the same path to the cul-de-sac not a month ago. Yet, back then, everything seemed so much simpler.

At some point during our trek, Elsa is carrying me. I seemed to have hurt my ankle pretty bad, and the soft movements of her shuffling, as I teeter left to right, rock me slowly, softly, to the edge of sleep.

She walks along the sidewalk carefully, arms gripped tightly around my legs – I watch the houses pass us by slowly, I listen to the croaking of birds fade, I smell the summer air, and suddenly, I'm on the verge of slumber, inches away from sweet, sweet fantasy. Elsa smells like dirt and sweat.

"I'm sorry," I say.

I think that's the last thing she needs to hear.

I wake up in excruciating pain. The pain flaring up my spine the second I sit up, and I groan, gripping my back, as I fall backwards into big, soft, fluffy pillows. The first thing I notice is my blood staining the bed sheets, and the second thing I notice is Elsa. She's all around me, surrounding me, covering me with her sweaty, battered body, and nothing can be any better.

She wakes then, eyelashes fluttering, and the arm around my waist moves to rub one of her swollen eyes, she hisses and then snickers. "Forgot about that."

I don't laugh; I just stare at her. The bruises running all up and down her arms and back don't faze me as much anymore, now that I'm sporting the same sort of markings. We match, suddenly, like mirrors. Bearing this same sort of marking, like tribal beings, proud of their scars and cuts. While with us, it just seems to be horrible little reminders of our faults.

"You brought me to your house?"

She nods softly, "Your house was too far away." She stretches then. "Also, you were kind of heavy."

I stick out my tongue playfully and push her shoulder, but she just winces. I apologize immediately. My whole arm flares when I wave my hands around. Elsa and I are two, sleepy, wincing girls, covered in blood.

I watch her get up and walk over to her bathroom, stripping off her shirt as she goes. I stare from the bedroom as she undresses. My eyes stay firm, locked on her the entire time. I slowly move up the curve of her back, the lines of her elbows and arms, her lovely neck, her beautiful face. The bruises are just little designs now, inching across her skin. In some weird, odd way, they seem to make her even more beautiful. Her imperfections make her human, and being human is amazing.

She must know I'm watching her by now. She must understand how I see her.

I rise then, gently shifting over to her bathroom, and I find Elsa cleaning her scars and back with a washcloth. She still has pants on, thank God.

"Do you usually clean your wounds every morning?" I ask her.

"It's becoming a bit of a habit now, yes." Why is she smiling?

"Elsa, can we just talk about this?"

She's silent, dipping the washcloth in some water and squeezing out the excess. She cleans her skin once more, and it's a bit distracting.

"There's nothing to talk about."

"Elsa, I just watched you get beaten half to death in the woods! If I didn't come along-"

"You wouldn't have gotten hurt."

She doesn't face me. Instead, her eyes connect with mine through the mirror. My eyes are widened with disbelief. After all this pain, the only person she seems to care about is me. "I was trying to help you," I say stiffly, hurt.

"Well, you just made it worse," she mutters, toying with the towel damp against her wounds. She's stiffly healing herself, annoyed obviously. "Just let me handle it myself."

"Yeah, well you're obviously handling it well."

Elsa stiffens at my words and then goes back to her cleaning. Now, she's working on her fingernails. "I don't need your help," she whispers. It almost sounds like a plea, like a secret cry.

My eyes glance around wildly. The bathroom is small. The only light is a small bulb above us, brightening our scars and wounds. "Then why am I in your damn house?" I feel rage suddenly. "Why would you come to my doorstep and ask to practice with me? Why are you choosing to pull me close and then push me farther away?"

Elsa doesn't answer, as usual.

"I just want to help you," my voice comes out faintly, weakly. I'm whining. I'm annoying. "I just want to be here for you."

"Do you really want to help me, Anna?" She turns then, glaring, eyes wide. "Or am I just something to_ fix?_"

Her words spark me. They hit me hard. Is she just another project to me? Something to do and achieve? I feel disgusting suddenly, filthy and dirty. Ruined and rotted. Spoiled. "I don't know."

I watch her reflection grimace in the mirror, and we stay trapped in the bathroom, chained up by our thoughts. The running water sounds ugly. The light bulb is a tint darker now.

"I may be alone, but I'm alone and free," she says.

"But you're not free. Look at all the bruises on you," I shake my head, willing the tears back. "God, have you seen your back? It's scary."

She's stiff then, eyes cast downward. "So, I am ugly."

I don't touch her, even though I want to. "No, even with all those bruises and bumps, your still the most beautiful girl I've ever seen," I feel my blush darken, my face is hot, embarrassment strikes me hard, "and I want to see you on the diamond not covered in bruises for once." I smile faintly. "I just want you to be happy."

The thing about crying is that just before it happens there's always this one, strange pinch of a facial feature that shines through just before the tears begin to fall. I think it's a look of absolute fear, acknowledgment. It's terrifying, really. It's the sudden realization that you should be crying, and then suddenly, you are.

I watched Elsa have this strange emotion for a whole minute before she begins to apply make up to the bruises.

"You don't have to help me," Elsa says thickly to comfort me. She can probably feel me from behind, eyeing her with such… pity. "God, I told you to leave me alone."

"I can't," I laugh bitterly. "I can't just leave you alone when I know what you're going through."

"You can," she tells me as she continues to clean herself. I feel even worse now. Disgusting.

"Why don't you just leave?"

She doesn't respond.

"Why don't you just join the Panthers?"

Elsa turns then, to give me a good hard look of uncertainty. Yet, there's a bit of hope there, just peeking along the surface. I watch her eyes shift between mine, then dipping down to my bruises.

"I'm sorry," she says. "I got you into this and now-" She stops herself. Elsa's always stopping herself. I watch her grasp the sink, her blood tinted fingertips gripping the beautiful white tightly. I can't help but feel as if she tried to defend herself. As if the blood on her hands isn't her own. Then after a deep breath, ragged and painful, she begins her daily rituals of ignoring help and curing herself.

I don't have the heart to bear it anymore. I can't watch her crumble before me yet again. "You can join us anytime," I tell her. "We'd welcome you with open arms." It's my last shot, my last try to be her savior. Her salvation. It is my last, futile attempts to save Elsa.

Without an answer, I trip backwards and rush into her room, put on her shirt, wipe away the dried blood on my lip, chin and nose with my spit and thumb, and then walk right out of her house without a single goodbye.

I don't see Elsa for the rest of June.

It is the beginning of July when heading for the Panther's practice, I find Elsa practicing by the park near my house once again. She's not alone, but with a few of her teammates. I glare at them beyond the fencing with absolute distaste. I'm on the outskirts of the field, and I feel a bit restless.

Elsa notices me quickly though, as if she's been looking for me the whole time, and briefs with me on the other side. The crossed fencing, rusted and dreary, separates us. Maybe it's all a bit too metaphoric for some reason.

"Hey."

"You're practicing here for a change?"

Elsa rolls the ball around in her hand. I watch her push the matted sweaty hair on her forehead back before covering it with her cap. She's pleasantly refreshing to see again, for some reason.

We don't say much else after that, but we're staring through the fencing, so intently, so closely, it's as if the wiring isn't even before us. I don't glance at her bruises. Mine have healed perfectly.

"I wanted to see you," she tells me softly, whispering. "I arranged practice to be here and-"

"What do you want, Elsa?" I say to her. I'm getting frustrated. Some days she pulls me close and other days she pushes me back. "What do you want with me?"

It's not a simple question to answer, maybe a bit harder than ever before now. I watch Elsa curl the ball in her grip, nibble on her lower lip, she's trying so hard to voice out what's inside.

To just let it all out.

"I'm not okay," she tells me suddenly.

I'm staring at a little blotch of sunshine blotted right on her cheek. It's beautiful. Sunny. "I know," I reply.

Her next words take me by utter surprise. My grip on the fencing weakens, my eyes droop, my mouth pops open.

"I'd like to join the Panthers," she tells me.

She chuckles at my expression. "_Now_?" I mutter dumbly.

"Right now," she grins.

"Right_ here_?"

"Right here," she confirms. There's this unknown confidence to her tone, almost bringing action to her words. She seems a bit stronger, a bit braver than ever before. Even with the bruises running down her arms and skin, I feel like they're not as purple anymore. Maybe they're healing. Maybe she's covered them. It's still as if she's trying.

I can feel the blush on my cheeks, the beating of my heart. I'm paralyzed. Her confidence is incredibly encouraging, totally hypnotizing. Elsa, brave and strong, has finally matched the rumors about her. The Ice Queen that can swing like a professional swinger does it again.

Elsa's stepping up to the plate, holding that ball, I can see it now. She's going in for that pitch. She's waving her hand back, front foot slamming forward, dust wafting around her like beautiful curtain, a dirty mess never seemed so regal.

And then-

The swing.

Elsa steps back, flings the ball in her hand to her teammates' feet and begins to climb the fencing with ease.

I watch with shock as she springs up over the top, sits at the very edge and listens to the shouting from behind her. They're cursing at her, throwing their mitts to the ground, calling her horrible, disgusting names. I'm not even listening; my eyes are just on Elsa, gleaming with the sunlight behind her, smiling warmly.

I can tell she's scared though. Past that smile, there's a slight quirk to her cheek, a small painful look to her eyes. I'm a bit fearful myself, listening to her teammates scream and holler at her like she's some sort of animal.

"Practice starts at three," I tell her to block out the shouting.

"We've got time," she mutters, "Walk me there?"

"I'd love to," I say.

She jumps down elegantly and toys with her cap. "Lead the way."

And I do.

* * *

**A/N #2 You Are Epilogue will be up soon? Maybe?**

**EDIT: Fixed all errors and spelling mistakes. Sorry about that guys :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**I just want to thank everyone for the comments, the suggestions and my lovely, lovely, beta for helping me with this chapter. Sorry it's taken so long. Thanks for not giving up on me. **

* * *

Swing And A Miss- Chapter 2

* * *

We celebrate on the bus after every win. Though coach hasn't caught on just yet, Elsa brings a pack of beers in her bag for every game, knowing perfectly well we'd all be drinking to the Panther's success. I don't know how coach hasn't realized he's been driving a bus full of drunk girls home every week. There were cans lying around, kissing ensuing after every game and laughter booming like a sound system. I'm sure he knows about it, but just chooses to ignore it, which is perfectly fine by me.

I lift my can up, "To us!"

Our cans clank together perfectly. We cheer. As a team. As a whole. I'm grinning widely and sipping my beer, before catching Elsa looking at me once again for the fifth time today.

"What?" I ask with a shy smile. I can't help but feel a bit red. Maybe it's from the beer.

She shakes her head though, flicks her cap back a bit so I can see her bangs and the beauty of her eyes. "Nothing," she replies.

And we clank our cans and sit in the last two seats of the bus, listening to our teammates cheer, drink and laugh. Once and a while I'll lean into the circle of girls, give my piece, then shuffle back into my seat and sip. It's beautiful out, the sun is shining, not a cloud in the sky, yet the cool chilling breeze reminds me of a faint spring day. I love the weather like this. I stare out of the dirty bus window at the houses blurring by, a bit tipsy from my beer and the idea of Elsa staring at me once again.

As we step off the bus, everyone says goodbye and we all go to our respective houses. Though, everyone knows that Elsa and I like to walk with one another, so no one bothers us by tagging along.

"I love winning," I tell her.

Elsa laughs, swings her bag over her shoulder and toys with her bat, clanging it along some fencing. "You say that after every game."

"Because we win _every_ game."

Elsa grins and pulls my ponytail softly to get my attention. She's staring at me again. I know she is. She wants me to look at her, to see those specks of blue in her eyes, or to count the faint small freckles upon her cheeks.

I don't give her a glance. I won't let her win this sort of teasing.

"I think you were wrong," I continue.

She hums.

"Before. When we had our first practice together-" I sniffle a bit, the wind always makes my nose run. "When you said it's just a game. It's not just a game. It's_ life_."

Elsa laughs then, her head tips back, but I don't even want to hear her make fun of me. This is _important._

"Stop laughing and listen." I walk a bit ahead, and she catches up, still snickering. I smile. "Everyone is doing so much better now that we're winning, y'know?" I pull my bag over my shoulder. I keep walking. I'm on a damn roll.

"Laura's parents are back together now. Jenny is doing amazing in school. Ashley is still a slut, but now she uses protection- and you-" I turn then, finally. I give her my full attention and she stops short, puffs out a breath of interest. "And you Elsa- well- I don't see any more bruises on you."

Elsa shrugs, "They just left me alone."

"For good?"

"I see them here and there but they don't bother me anymore."

I nod. This feeling of joy fills my insides. My lungs expand with my happiness and I grin widely. "Good." It's the understatement of the year. I want to jump and swing Elsa around. I want to pull her close and kiss her. But I refrain.

Then suddenly Elsa's moving close to me, and her free hand is wrapping around my shoulder. She's the perfect height for this, this sort of friendly touching, and we march to my house, laughing and grinning like fools. The whole time, I fear to look up at her. Terrified that if Elsa looks down at me, just as I look up, she might see how many stupid freckles I really have or I might just want to kiss her again only to get rejected once more.

So my eyes are on the ground while Elsa's are on me. She's whispering in my ear and laughing and tugging me along until we finally reach my house.

"I signed us up for a championship game." I smile. "It's a big deal."

"If it's a big deal then the Snowflakes will be there too."

I watch as Elsa's smile fades a bit. Even talking about her old teammates makes her uncomfortable and uneasy. She's gripping her arm, holding on to where the old bruises once lay. Even though they aren't there anymore, I bet she can still feel them. Underneath the surface. Underneath her skin. Just another reminder.

There are some scars that will never heal. Always indented. Always there.

"If they're there we'll kick their asses."

"In the game right? Kick their asses _only_ in the game, right?"

I scoff, "Sure."

"_Anna. "_

"Relax," I tell her, waving my hand around. "I won't do_ much_ harm."

"_Anna-"_

"I mean I got a mean left hook and-"

Elsa's eyes widen, "_Anna!" _She's grinning like crazy right now.

"Kidding! I'm kidding!" I laugh and scamper back home, my bag jingling as I walk.

Elsa stays by the driveway as I make my way up to the front door. I unlock it and give her a wave. She smiles, waves with her bat and returns home.

It's been like this all July, and I really hope it never changes.

We begin our practice for championships. It's grueling. Difficult. Elsa has us working to the bone. We usually do the Snowflakes' exercises times ten, which is Army based training by twenty. It's difficult. Most of the girls drop dead by the last lap around the track, and that's not even close to the complete cardio workout.

The Panthers persevere though. We succeed and conquer. We're strong. United.

And after practice we all go to this little diner by the town. It's a bit far from our cul-de-sac, but it's right by our field, so we don't mind much.

We come clobbering in, our cleats caked with dirt and grass, sore and tired, but certainly not groaning. We're celebrating. We jump into our favorite booth, a long table with a few chairs, and hike up our shirts or let our hair down, we use our water to clean our faces. Ten minutes into ordering and the table is already a mess, sugar packets strewn across the table, soda rings littering the menus, bits of dirt and grass in our salt and pepper shakers. We're so unorganized it's criminal, but these are my girls, so I just heave a small sigh and continue to watch Elsa sip her milkshake and eye me from across the table.

"So tell us more about the championship game?" Sara asks. Her feet are currently on the table, she's pulling her socks up, and we all watch a powder of dust come swarming from inside the cotton. "Who are we up against?"

"Some big teams, some little teams," I reply. "Does it really matter?"

"It matters if we're up against some incredible teams and not prepared for it," Jackie mutters.

"I like the mystery. It makes us work harder."

"Like we're not working hard enough?"

Everyone laughs.

"Elsa you should be a drill sergeant. With your workouts I'm sure the Army would _love_ you."

She looks up from her milkshake. She's beautiful. Stunning. I'm entranced as she smiles shyly at her lap. There's a patch of dirt in her hair, a blade of grass sticking from within her braid and I'm staring at it and smiling whimsically.

"I know someone _else_ who loves Elsa," one of the girls says with a snicker.

And then all eyes are on me, as my eyes are on Elsa, the very pinnacle point of my summer, the very reason our team has been so successful and rich with wins. I'm blushing, frantically clawing at my straw to take a sip of my water, in hopes to calm my tight throat. But it seems as if Elsa is doing the same, sipping her drink and looking away, toying with the bottom of her braid and staring intently at the countertop from afar.

The snickering becomes a bit louder, and now there are whispers.

I'm trying so hard to look away, think other thoughts, but the only thing on my mind is Elsa. The way she smiles. The way she looks when she swings the ball with such ease. I want to chance a glance. Just one.

Me and Elsa lock eyes, briefly, and it's as if my whole body sets on fire. I'm hot from head to toe, my drink is only making it worse as I choke a bit and slam my hands against the table before coughing up a lung.

Elsa is by my side in seconds patting my back, as the rest of the team snickers. She laughs and tries to help me get my breathing back.

But how can I when-

Oh god her face is even redder then mine. She's blushing so hard the color of her cheeks is clashing with her eyes. And I'm coughing and humiliated.

Does she want me as much as I want her? She must know of my adoration. I can feel her fingertips rub along my spine, and if that's not making it any harder to breath, I can feel her damn eyes scanning me like a hawk. She's hovering over me, a bit of her braid is in my line of vision.

After I'm done hacking up a lung, I feel Elsa's hands leave my back and I miss the contact dearly.

"You okay?" she asks me. Her bottom lip is being bitten from smiling. Her eyes are flittering around my face wildly. Our blushes are matching. Faces red and embarrassed.

"I'm fine." I look up at her. "How are you?" I tease.

And just before she has time to answer I hear some of the Panther's already shouting and gasping about something else. They're like puppies I swear.

"It's the _Snowflakes_," Ashley whispers loudly, and I turn in my chair.

In the nick of time, the Snowflakes come strutting in. They're wearing their Catholic school uniforms. They look so put together. So well dressed and mannered.

Our teams are walking contradictions. My girls, their legs all on the table, crossed at the ankles proud, cleats kicked off and thrown about. Our faces are dirty, hair untamed by the caps on our heads, grit in our teeth, scrapes on our knees. We're the complete opposite of the girls strutting to our table, with their symmetry, tidiness and all-together structured lives.

The Snowflakes glare at us, they sneer, they're disgusted, and to be honest I don't blame them much. In their eyes we're a bunch of cul-de-sac chumps. But that doesn't give them the right to give us such horrible looks. Such terrible little jagged smiles and turned up noses.

They know we're here.

The tension is already thick.

They're walking to our table.

I see my girls, all hunched in their seats, eyeing them with distaste. And then I search for Elsa-

She shushes me just as I'm about to call out her name.

I duck down underneath the table, "Why are you-"

"I'm hiding."

Her face is full of panic, though hidden from the table's shadow I can just see the tears already building in her eyes. She's petrified, shaking-

"You're hiding from the Snowflakes?" I can't help but feel a bit confused, "Why?"

She doesn't answer just burrows a bit closer to my knee which sends a shiver of pleasure to shoot straight through my body. But another look at the girl approaching our table has the feeling leaving all too quickly.

"You told me they left you alone!" I hiss at her.

"I lied."

I still with fear. If they see Elsa… I have no idea _what_ they'll do to her. Drag her outside by her hair and beat the living shit out of her for leaving their team so late in the season? Beat her right here in this diner? I'm even more terrified now, so I shift a bit in my seat to hide Elsa with my legs.

But Christ, I can feel the adrenaline, the tension and the absolute fear. Elsa's up against my thighs, and if that's not making me sweat enough, the Snowflakes' _new_ leader is next to me already, glaring at me with her hands on her hips.

"Heard you're entering the championship," she starts off. There's this air about her. She's tough. Her muscles are so twiggy and thin, that she looks almost a bit too healthy. She's a runner. I can tell already. And I know for a fact she's probably the best at swinging.

I'm speechless, my mouth quivers. I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know how to fight back and seem tough. That's_ Elsa's_ job-

"Hello?" the leader echoes, moving closer. "I'm_ talking_ to you. What are you deaf _and_ dumb?"

I shake my head. I don't know what to say. My throat is closed up, silenced, all I can feel is Elsa's braid tickling my thigh. All I can feel is her hot breath. Why is she hiding so close to me? Why is this happening right _now?_

"Well you guys won't be much of a challenge, that I can already tell." The Snowflakes laugh with their leader, and I'm blushing out of humiliation. "With our new teammate Suzie, none of you stand a _chance."_

I watch the Snowflakes talk amongst themselves for a bit.

"What happened to Elsa?"

I don't know why I asked. I don't know why I didn't just keep my damn mouth shut, but I'm curious. I'm begging to see what they would say. They lost their _star player._ They lost the only reason they have been winning. They lost the spirit of their team. They're punching back. Their everything.

"We haven't seen her in a while," one of the Snowflakes mutters, but is shushed immediately by her leader.

The leader rolls her eyes, as if her own teammates annoy her. "Elsa has been _excused_ from this team."

"By whose standards?" I ask.

There's a quiver, a quick flash of silence, before the leader gets her footing back. "My own."

_She's lying._

My team is still with confusion, a bit of anger, some denial. They look fearful. Like our wins didn't mean a damn thing. Like getting drunk in the back of our bus doesn't mean shit. Like all the times we've won and succeeded don't count.

I can't do much. I can't say a word. I watch them all soundlessly feel worse and worse. They think we'll lose. They think our winnings will just dry out. That it's all just good luck.

This infuriates me.

And then the question I've been dreading-

"Have _you_ seen Elsa?" They ask.

And then I feel the tension, weighing down upon me. It's crushing me. Seizing me. _Elsa is right under this table, between my legs, and she's going to kick your ass, i_s what I _want_ to say. But god the words wont come out. If the leader would just look down, or even inch a bit farther away from the table, she would see Elsa perfectly, hiding up against my legs and shaking like crazy. I feel the pressure.

If they found Elsa what _would_ they do to her?

Why has Elsa been _hiding_ this whole time?

Why did she_ lie_ to me?

I'm too silent. I'm too suspicious. But god Elsa is right _here._ I want to defend her. It would be so easy. It's obvious that she's the best player in this town, but fear strikes my heart again. If I say anything out of line they could hurt my _team_. They will hurt Elsa. I stay silent to protect her. Because she's _right _below this table and if they find her-

"No we haven't," Ashley remarks. I turn to give her a good hard look of just 'thank you' and 'I will explain later.'

The Snowflakes all snicker. "Good for you," The leader presumes. "She would have made your team even _worse_."

They snicker. My team growls.

"She had such a poor hand," one of them says. "Always giving the other team walks."

"Her throwing wasn't too good either, let's be honest."

Then the girls start talking amongst themselves before us. Seemingly gossiping about the girl beneath the table. I'm shaking with anger and fear. I hate myself. Why can't I just defend Elsa? Why can't I just help her for once?"

"…_.Ice Queen..."_

"…_I'm so glad she's gone…"_

"…_Never stand a chance with her around…"_

"_I hope she never comes back…"_

"…_Elsa's such a…"_

I chance a glance at Elsa, underneath the table and-

Ah.

_She's crying._

I'm shaking. I'm positively quivering with rage. I'm a bit fearful of myself at the moment. I want to feel the crack of their jaws beneath my fist. I want to see their blood strewn across their beautiful fucking aquaberry sweaters. I want to give them as many bruises as they gave Elsa. I'd love to see them crumble before my feet, to watch them fall with a smile on my lips.

How dare they hurt Elsa? _The Panther's_ Elsa? _My_ Elsa?

As my team continues to listen, the angrier we grow. We're red with rage. Growling with anger. We're all at the edge of our seats. Holding our drinks with tight fists that would much rather be around someone's neck than a straw. Our legs are shaking, eyes wide, eyebrows tensed and focused.

We're dogs on a leash, barking and growling. Ready to pounce. To snap. We're Panthers goddammit. We watch our prey until the moment is right.

I'm filled with such anger. My protectiveness shows instantaneously. My motherly instincts kick in without a single thought in my head. I can't even begin to control my emotions as I stand, grab my drink and toss it into the Snowflakes' leader's face.

"Don't you fucking_ dare_ talk about her like that." I say firmly.

It's silent. Like we're all absorbing what just happened and how much disrespect I just threw in someone's face_. Literally._

Shit hits the fan.

Suddenly drinks are flying, cleats are being used as weapons, along with bats. There is screaming, it's chaos, and I don't have time to even focus on what I just started as I take Elsa's hand and drag her out the backdoor in silence.

She's panicking.

_She's panicking. _

I'm holding onto her but Elsa seems to not want to be touched as she pulls back from my grip and leans against the alleyway wall. I watch her soundlessly, as she shakes, holds her hands to her chest and chokes out a sob.

I'm helpless. Desperately watching her.

"It's okay." I whisper.

We both know that's a lie.

"Elsa-"

Then we hear screaming echoing from outside, girls shouting and yelling. A trashcan is knocked over by the street, which scares us both. I take Elsa's hand, which is cold and clammy, and we run all the way home. We don't dare turn to look behind us. We don't even stop.

But we finally slow down when we reach our neighborhood.

"Who started the fight?" Elsa asks me, once we reach my house. She's calm now. A bit uncertain, but at lease she's not shuddering.

"I did."

Elsa just exhales. "Anna, fighting is wrong-"

I scoff. "Were you even _paying attention_ to what they said about you?" My voice is raised. I shouldn't be screaming at this time of night. People are trying to sleep in the cul-de-sac. "Did you even hear-"

"Of course I heard!" she hisses. "I was _right there_!"

We're silent again. We're standing outside of my house, angry and frustrated. The light post above our heads is creating this horrible glow. Everything is horrible right now.

"I just wanted to defend you," I voice out. It probably came out a bit more stern than wanted.

"Well do it another way. Don't be so-" She looks away, thinks, "Don't _become _them."

I'm insulted. "I would _never_ become one of them! How can you even say that to me?"

"Fire against fire never works, Anna!"

"It does when one fire is stronger!"

"You'll just_ become_ the bully!"

"I won't be if I'm doing it for a good cause!"

"And what's the cause Anna?" Elsa moves closer. "Who are you doing this for?"

"For you!"

We glare. "You're doing this for the team. For the _game._ Don't _pretend _this is for me_."_

I'm stiff, still. I'm so frustrated. "I'm not doing this for the game."

"All you want is to _win_." Elsa clenches her fists. "You don't care about anything else."

"That's not true!" My voice sounds so strangled. "I care about you too!"

Elsa just groans in exhaustion as she rubs her eyes and shakes her head. "_Goodnight_." And I watch her walk off.

She just _left _the argument.

She just left me standing outside of my house.

When I unlock my door I turn anyway, even if she's not standing there. I don't wave goodbye.

It all starts when Ashley isn't at practice the next day. And then it all ends when Rachel comes to tell us Ashley is at her house, hurt badly and that her parents, in fear of their daughters health, have forced her to quit the team.

I turn to Elsa first, something that seems to happen a lot lately, and give her this look of shock.

"Oh god," Elsa whispers. She's shaking and toying with the end of her braid, trying to control her flaring emotions. But they're showing wildly. "Oh god…" She whispers and covers her mouth softly.

"We can't let this hold us back," I try to pull the attention away from Elsa, who's shivering in her cleats, and turn to the girls, "But we should all go pay Ash a visit-"

"How hurt is she?" Elsa asks Rachel, who's quivering in her seat and trying not to cry.

"Bad."

Elsa doesn't reply back but just shakes her head and rubs her eyes. I watch her soundlessly for a moment.

"We should make the Snowflakes pay for what they did," Rachel mutters in her hands. She cuts through the silence like a knife. "Beat one of their members to a bloody pulp."

"Violence isn't the answer." Elsa answers, but her voice is lacking. It's weak. It's not Elsa at all, but more like this quiet frail little thing, hidden underneath the surface. "It's not right."

"We can't just let them get away with this!" One of the girls say.

Some of us agree in soft quiet murmurs. But the whole time I'm glancing at Elsa, who's fearful and terrified, and I can feel my aggravation spike. Something inside of me ignites. It's heavy and weighted, it's burning and boiling. Without much thought I then pull Elsa close by the arm and drag her away from the rest of Panthers. My voice is low, harsh, I'm whispering frantically in her ear, clawing at her shoulder to keep her still.

"Can you man up a bit?" I whisper.

Elsa just nods soundlessly, but her eyes are on my cleats. I watch the tight fists by her side shake a bit, her lower lip being gnawed on by teeth due to nerves.

"We should fight back," I state, unfaltering.

"That's a horrible plan!" she snaps, finally glancing me in the eyes.

"Well, what else can we do Elsa?" I'm tough now, pulling her close, "We lost a member because of the Snowflakes. A _good _member-"

"I know."

"So what are we doing here?" My voice comes out sharp, and a few girls all gathered by the home run plate give us a glance before returning to their gossip.

"We should lay low- Maybe drop out of the championship-"

"Now _that's_ a horrible plan," I scoff, rolling my eyes.

"Well what _should_ we do then?" Elsa's voice is a bit high now. "Want us to fight back? Send more girls home?"

"It's better then dropping out! It's better then letting them win!"

"Oh god forbid someone else wins, Anna!"

Now we're shouting. Our voices are high. We're creating this symphony of panic. I can feel the stares of our girls, watching us from afar. Watching their two leaders, seemingly lose it before them. It's embarrassing.

"We can _not_ let them get away with this!" I holler.

"And they wont have to if we hide!"

"Hide?" I glare, "You want us to all hide? Like _you_?" I point at her chest. It's a low blow. "I am not like _you _Elsa! I can't just conceal everything and hope it all goes away. This won't go away-"

"You think I don't know that? You think my mind isn't constantly thinking about-"

"Why did you lie to me?" I exclaim. "_Why_?"

Elsa's speechless now. I watch her compose herself a bit, but it's futile as I continue to poke and prod at her. I'm tired of the bullshit. I'm tired of the fear.

"I didn't want you to worry," she replies softly.

"Well, you got what you wanted. I'm not worried, I'm fucking_ furious_." I move past her with the brush of my shoulder, and call our girls together, but Elsa is behind me in seconds, turning me around with a firm hand.

Her eyes are wide, confused and hurt. She looks petrified. "You don't know how they fight. You don't know how good they all are!"

"You just don't care about our girls, do you?"

Elsa's taken back by my harsh words. "That's not true at all."

"Then what's the problem here? Why are you holding us back?"

She turns then, trying to pull herself together. To hide. To run away. But I'm done with these flaky sort of emotions. I want the truth. I want blunt truth. I want it all_, _out in the open now, free to caress our thoughts or maybe ruin them. And I'm not getting that if I stand around. I walk behind Elsa's retreating form, and we march across the diamond.

"Why can't you just fight back?" I exclaim towards her back, hunched up a bit.

She ignores me.

"If you really care why aren't you doing anything about this?"

She continues to ignore me. We pass by second base, we're going to the outfield. The girls are watching us march out onto the grass. I'm screaming at this point.

"Why can't you just tell me the truth? Why does this have to be so fucking _difficult?"_

She ignores me.

"What are you so afraid of?"

"You getting hurt!" she screams, spinning on her heel to face me.

Her voice seems to carry for miles. It stretches far beyond the field, over the surrounding wooded area. It silences summer. It silences the diamond. It silences me completely as I stand stiffly in my spot and watch as Elsa gets so close to my face we could be kissing.

Her eyes are on fire right now, burning with this sort of passion I only see her filled to the brim with on the field. There's a fire in her. Deep down. I'm absolutely paralyzed with attraction, guilt, love.

"You don't know how fucking horrible I feel about all of this Anna," she hisses at me. Her voice is low. Her voice is quiet, but it's the loudest and strongest it's ever been. Her hands are on my shoulders, in an attempt to shake me out of this dream. To wake me up. To help me open my eyes and see that Elsa is this tiny girl who actually has a damn fighting chance!

"I know how they fight. They attacked me too and-"

"And I don't want that happening again." She licks her lips. Her eyes are wet. "I don't want you getting hurt_ again,_ Anna. Because of me."

I'm shivering with nerves. Now I feel the pain of screaming in my throat. Everything cools down. I feel like the wind got a bit breezier. The air a bit calmer. The trees begin to turn a light shade of green. The sun is high in the sky. The girls are all quiet with interest.

I nod faintly at the ground. Surrendering.

"I felt terrible when I carried you back to my house that night." Her voice is shaking. I'm scared she just might cry in front of me and our team. I don't want them to see Elsa crumble. I have. And it's horrible. I feel like a wife, watching my husband lose it before our children. I don't want Elsa to cry, to feel humiliated. I don't want them to think of her as weak, just because she can shed a few tears. They don't know her. I don't even know her. "I can't even begin to imagine what they can do to everyone else."

"So what? We drop out?" I mumble.

She pauses a bit, considers this. "We drop out of the championship." She concludes quietly.

And I nod. It's the reasonable thing to do.

But there's still this burning in my chest. This anger. It starts from deep within my gut and comes flaring up throat out of my mouth. I can breath fire if I want to.

I'm angry. Controlled with this lust for the Snowflakes' blood. I want them all broken at home somewhere. I want them kicked off their team. I want to see their beautiful little Catholic schoolgirl facades dropped for all to see.

We tell the girls we're dropping out next week.

But practice was unruly. Full of hatred. Throws were thrown to kill. It was the best practice we had in a while, but only because it was conducted off of anger and pumped full of rage. The girls ran faster, they hit harder, but with frowns and sneers on their faces.

They hated the Snowflakes just as much as Elsa did.

It was really hard to watch.

A few days had passed and on one rainy, foggy, humid evening, Elsa is at my door with the Panthers telling me we're going to visit Ashley at her house. It's a bit overdue so of course I go without a second thought. I shrug on a coat and follow everyone to Ashley's house.

The whole walk there is dreadfully cryptic though. I can feel the tension, weighing down upon us. Crushing us. Our thoughts are swarming in our minds. Eyes wide with anger, fists clenched once again.

We all feel the same sort of emotion: Rage.

Elsa just looks out of the loop. She's an outcast. Instead of anger, she feels fear. Instead of determination, she would much rather surrender. I don't concern myself with Elsa's feelings. At this point, my only goal is to see Ashley and pray she's going okay.

Ashley's parents let us all into her room. Once the door cracks open, we all take a good look at one of our best teammates, lying in bed, beaten and scarred.

I'm instantly taken back to seeing Elsa like that on my sheets. Bloody and bruised. Broken.

And before any of us can say something I turn to Elsa and realize it's as if she's watching herself. It's absolutely traumatizing for her. She shifts in her spot behind the row of girls surrounding Ashley's bed. Off to the side, Elsa lingers, staring a few paintings on the wall and trying hard not to cry.

After few moments of staring, I join the conversation echoing through the room.

"So we're out of the championship?" Ashley whispers. "I'm so sorry guys-"

"You didn't do a thing wrong," Lauren grits out.

"Yeah it was the Snowflakes."

"They'll get what's coming to them soon enough."

"We're not using fire against fire," I tell Brittney with a scowl. "We leave them be."

"And let them win?"

I watch Sara for a while and shrug. I don't dare glance at Elsa, she's shivering in the corner and biting her lip so hard it just might bleed.

The rest of the visit is full of awkward laughter. The girls are trying to forget, but I can feel their anger, deep in their bones, wrapped around their veins. They're mad. Frustrated. Watching their own, bloody and beaten on a bed isn't a fun sight. Especially when you know whom the predator is.

When we all leave Ashley's and go our separate ways, Elsa can tell I'm upset with her. I have no right to be. It's horribly inconsiderate of me.

"I know you think this is unfair-"

"I don't think anything of it," I tell her.

"You seem mad."

I don't answer back. I bite my tongue.

"Anna I-"

"Just drop it okay?" I glance at Elsa once we reach my house. "I already have."

And then I'm gone.

The next day is sunny and quiet. A few clouds dotted the blue sky. And there wasn't practice for once, which is a nice change of pace. Elsa says we need to at least take one day off, to relax our muscles and even our brains. I don't argue with her. It's almost impossible to change her mind or ways once they're set. This is one of Elsa's greatest attributes, but also her worst downfalls.

I hear shuffling from my spot on the front lawn.

"You're blocking my sunlight," I mutter. I don't rise or make a move. My eyes are still closed past my sunglasses. I know it's Elsa though. Who else would be at my house this early in the day? "Tan with me."

She doesn't utter a word as she easily takes off her shirt. It's then that I open my eyes, squinting them softly. I immediately notice a few bruises that still haven't faded on her ribs. She can see me staring at them through my shades and doesn't stiffen or shy away.

"They aren't new," she comforts.

"Still hiding from the Snowflakes?" I look away, a bit too agitated to even consider a conversation.

I feel the strands of grass shift a bit beside me as Elsa lies on her stomach and rubs her face into her arms a bit. I don't dare glance at her, but instead heave a soft breath and stretch my arms under my head. Softly, carefully, I can feel her eyes on me. She has only seen me without a shirt on once, so I don't blame Elsa for her wandering gaze.

Even a bit annoyed, I'm still a blushing from the oogling.

"Your coach back on the Snowflakes never saw your bruises?"

"I blamed them on poor throws," she answers back quickly, her voice muffled by her forearm.

"Smart."

We take a few minutes of silence in.

"Are you mad at me?"

I bite my lip softly, "No."

I don't roll over when she does. But now she's _obviously_ staring at me. I can't help it as my imagination runs rampant. I immediately, instantly, imagine Elsa in my bed, waking up on a Sunday morning together. I'll turn to smile at Elsa, clean, pure Elsa, with a baseball cap on her head and clear complexion, not one bruise on her. It's this horrible little daydream that keeps popping up into my head from time to time. It haunts me at night when I'm staring at my ceiling in silence. It crowds my head during the day. It fills my entire brain with this horrible false hope. And now it's slowly becoming reality before my eyes, as Elsa lies beside me with a soft look upon her face. It's incredibly endearing, but I ignore.

"Are you sure you're not mad at me?"

"Just frustrated," I shrug. "But I really don't have a right to feel this way."

Elsa lays on her back now and we both watch the few clouds in the sky rub over the earth. They spread, slowly, carefully, flying by. I'm watching a soft, light part of the sky, a really frail and lightly tinted sort of blue amongst the rest surrounding it. I want to tell Elsa I'm sorry. Or maybe I want to yell at her. Honestly it's all a bit confusing now. But when has it ever been simple?

"Maybe I should just leave the Panthers." Her voice comes out strangely soft. Like it's been rehearsed. I'm holding back this shaky unknown breath. I feel like crying. "If I'm gone the Snowflakes will probably leave you guys alone, and then you can win the championship like you've always wanted."

I listen intently. I don't turn to face her. I know my lip is quivering now. I know she can see me struggling.

"And then Ashley will come back so it's not like your missing a member."

I squeeze my eyes tightly. Can she see the wetness past my glasses?

"I just-"

I rise then, my hands holding on to some blades of grass below me like anchors. They're grounding me. I'm afraid if I let go ill fly away, like the clouds. "Do you really think that's what I want?" My voice comes out like a hiss. Low and annoyed. I sound like a low, growling dog, ready to bark and snarl at any moment. Elsa seems shocked by my anger.

"You've been wanting to win the championship since the very beginning-"

"And I _still _do." I let go of the grass. I'm fearless. I can fly. I'll let the clouds take me away at this point. "But I'm willing to give it all up for _you_." My voice comes out with this choked sound. "And you don't even _appreciate it_."

Elsa looks so small suddenly. Standing above her like a tower, I lean over Elsa covering her with in my shadow. I'm this obstacle in her way, this horrible barrier. Her hands are wrapped around her legs and her face is tucked deep within her knees. She's staring at me. She looks like a small defeated animal. Small and wimpy. Frail and childish. Weak.

"I _want _to win," I say. "But with_ you_."

"But-"

"No one is mad at you Elsa. We all despise the snowflakes just as much as you do at this point." I pull my shades down. I hope my eyes are dry by now. I can feel the hot, hot sun beating down upon my back. It doesn't help me speak any easier. If anything it's making it harder. I'm exhausted. Tired. "Stop being so afraid."

"Fighting them will only make it worse."

"But not fighting them isn't helping either!" I lick my lips. "You're petrified of them. So let me be brave for you."

"I don't want you getting hurt again."

"You can't dodge the world by hiding after every little problem is thrown your way."

Elsa is stupefied. She's looking at me like I'm God.

"Just fly away with me," I tell her softly. She doesn't understand what I mean. I don't think she'll ever understand. I give her my hand then, my fingers jutting out towards her surprised features. She's motionless, still as a statue, glancing at my hand like it's fire.

It's a big step. I feel. To Elsa, reaching for my hand is like crossing a busy street with a blindfold on. There's so much pressure. There are so many things that can go wrong. Every horrible thing, ever possibly negative outcome is swarming around in her mind. That's what keeps her up at night, staring at her ceiling. That's what she daydreams about. Wasting her day away on fears, unexpected problems she wouldn't know how to face.

She's scared.

But Elsa takes my hand anyway and rises with grace and clarity.

It's a huge step, metaphorically of course. And for a while we stand in silence, both basking in Elsa's newfound bravery.

"Are we signing back up for the championship?" she asks me, bending over to retrieve our shirts. She hands mine and I grab hers to pass over. We stare at each other a bit more. She's waiting for me to answer.

"It's up to you." I reach out for her hand again, it's cold and clammy. Shaking a bit too. But I lock our fingers together. I can be her anchor. Her grass. Elsa will never be a cloud. And that's okay. "Are you scared?" I ask.

She nods, "Terrified."

"We can beat them at their own game," I tell her. "If we win the championship, I'm sure they'll leave us alone forever."

"Or make them chase us even harder."

I shrug and smile. "Then we'll run away even faster."

"_Anna." _She's staring at me with this uncertain expression. But I can read it loud and clear. Elsa's completely frightened. For my life, and probably hers. There's this sort of ignorance that comes off of myself, knowingly. And I try to mask the stench of bliss through small words and unnecessary tasks.

"We're going to be fine." I tell Elsa. We don't know if I'm lying or not. We'll have to leave it up to fate.

She looks beautiful now. Always. She's always beautiful. With her braid curled around her shoulder, shirt around her neck. I'm transfixed on her collarbones. Then her lips. I feel that horrible urge again, the terrible feeling of lust blooming inside my chest. I have half a mind to kiss Elsa here and now. But I refrain. Hold myself back with purpose.

It's for her to recover. She doesn't have time for games and dating right now.

She's a senior, and she's leaving next year. There's no point.

Not a single kiss.

Elsa notices me staring at her, and then once she's done staring past my shoulder she hands my face a quick glance and gives me that lopsided smile.

I'm horribly fixated on her now. Nothing can remove my eyes. "We can win the championships _together,"_ I tell her. "I can't do it without you." My voice comes out like thunder. Booming from my lips, crackling down to earth with a fiery sensation of wonderment. I am strong and fearless.

For a quick second. A moment, I think Elsa might just run off down the street in panic. She continues to pick at this little scab on her elbow and then rough around with her braid. She's nervous. She's fearful.

"We better start having practice all week then," she tells me. And it's like that theoretical _yes. _This is Elsa's way of giving us what we want, through means of desperation. She's giving the thumbs up. She's letting us _try,_ past all her fears and crazy expectations. I have no idea what's going to happen. She knows this, but she continues to follow me anyway like some sort of blind sheep. I'm perplexed at Elsa's constant loyalty when it comes to me.

Before I ever consider jumping on her and cheering for another shot at the championships, I face Elsa with feelings of confusion.

"Do you trust me?" I ask her. It must seem so left field. It's so random, that in fact, Elsa is completely taken off guard. Either she was thinking the same thing, doubting her sanity to ever follow a screw up like me so selflessly, or she was about to ask the same question herself.

"I trust you," she replies, nodding slightly. "I trust you Anna." Elsa's suddenly strong. Bringing up fits of strength to the forefront.

In seconds I'm jumping on top of her, howling in the midday air, my shades fall off completely. And I think, Elsa accidentally crushes them while carrying me. She's spinning me around on her back, drunk on my excitement. We're both a little too wild.

It doesn't matter.

I'm shouting and waving my fist in the air. "Those Snowflakes are gonna lose!" I cry out.

"They'll never stand a chance," Elsa whispers softly, stilling carrying me around and smiling.

"Snowflakes are gonna melt in the hot, hot summer!" I cheer.

"We can do it," Elsa mumbles shyly.

"We are Panthers, hear us roar!" I exclaim, lifting my fists in the air and perpetually knocking Elsa off balance. She teeters left, then right, and then I feel it, when she really _does_ lose balance, and we're practically midair with nothing to hold us up but the ground below. We tumble to the grass and laugh foolishly as I continue my chants of bravery and Elsa curls up and listens.

She's scared.

But that's okay.

And after we're done laughing and rolling around in the grass, we call an emergency softball practice.

We need all the help we can get.

After another four days of practice, we were ready to go. Our hearts were stronger now. Tougher. After enduring such a strange sort of defeat in the beginning, I feel our team learned a lot from the cancellation of events. We realized what we had when it was gone.

And now we know how lucky we are. And how damn good we are.

With my constant begging, and our coach's connections, The Panthers were allowed back into the championship. By defeating the necessary teams we are now at the finals.

We're against the Snowflakes, of course.

The bus ride to the field was quiet. Not a word spoken. We were like warriors going to battle, hands gripped into fists, waiting to be thrown. Eyes locked either in front of us or at the view outside our windows. Elsa didn't bring beers. She forgot. But it didn't matter much. Our whole bus ride was one big build up to the field. We have been waiting for this day since the very beginning. Since the girls found out about Rachel. Since Elsa came back from a practice with bruises.

I have been waiting for this moment my entire summer. Putting those Snowflakes in their place, as the disgusting, immoral, animals that they are.

I was ready to swing the bat, maybe at their faces. And all the while Elsa is shivering and shuddering in the seat beside me, her eyes are wide with terror and I hold her hand to still her, which works somehow.

The air is thick with tension. I know we're all just begging to see the snowflakes. The bus radio is playing classical music, and it's all a bit funny in a way. We're ready to smash some faces and maybe win a championship, for Rachel. For Elsa. We're not concerned with winning anymore.

"This was never just a game," I whisper to Elsa and myself.

She turns to me, confused, and the sun from the window beside her is glorious against her features.

"This was always about saving you."

She doesn't reply to me. I don't blame her. But now it's certainly official. Softball wasn't a game. This isn't a damn game. It was never a fucking game. It's life. It's someone's life. Maybe a girl who's looking for something to do. Or maybe a poor girl who still loves the game despite getting beaten by her teammates after every practice.

It's not a game goddammit.

Once the bus stops short we look outside our windows instantly. We crowd around the dirty smudged class to see the Snowflakes practicing at the field, and we all growl in unison.

"Let's kick some snowflake ass," Lauren whispers.

As we all cheer with the sound of absolute determination, Elsa is in her seat, twirling her hands around one another, gripping her lip like mad.

Once everyone gets off the only two remaining are me and Elsa.

I'm watching her then, from my seat. It's crunch time. The final stretch. She made it this far and my god I know she only has a bit more ways to go.

"What's going to happen now?" she whispers to the window.

"No clue."

"Will we _actually_ play the game or-"

"I don't know."

It's silent again, but we're both waiting to say something. Make a move. We have to get out there with the girls. Team up with them. Be the leaders. But my legs wont move and Elsa's still shuddering.

I feel like crying suddenly. We had gotten so far and now-

"It's you," I say softly. "It's always been you." I'm shocked by my revelation. I sound dumbstruck and awed.

"What?" Her voice is quiet, low, a bit confused.

I go close to face her now, so that she can know me. So that she can see it in my eyes, feel it upon my hand and read it against my lips.

"This whole things has always been about you." I'm smiling now. "I'm doing this for you. Always have been."

Elsa is still. But she grips my hand a bit tighter. "But you wanted to win-"

"What I_ wanted_ was you on my team."

"You practiced everyday-"

"Because _you _told me so."

"I worked you to death."

"I_ loved_ it."

Elsa's confused. "I'm-"

"I don't want to_ win_ anymore," I tell her, pulling her up onto her feet. "God, I don't care about the stupid trophy."

"You don't?"

"God, no," I laugh. "I just want to kick the Snowflakes' asses now."

"I'm angry at them," she says softly, looking at her feet.

"You're allowed to be."

And then after a few more moments of staring we go to climb off the bus. But something in my heart thunders. It quakes deep within me. Before I know it, I'm grabbing Elsa's hand and twirling her around to see me. She's confused at my harsh, sloppy movements, just as much as I am.

But nevertheless I kiss her anyway.

I don't think anyone can see us, as I pull her a bit closer and deepen the emotions flaring through our bodies. Elsa responds instantly. Then the back door of the bus swinging open, scaring us and we pull away from one another.

My lips are on fire, my eyes glassy and wet. I feel alive, burning with this unknown feeling. And I can tell Elsa is the same way. Her mine abuzz with our kiss, mesmerized about how amazing it felt.

"Can you guys help us?"

Lauren is holding a box of gloves behind me. She glances at me, then Elsa. "Are you guys okay?"

"Girls, we're bringing our stuff down to the field come on let's go!" Our coach calls out from behind the bus.

We're paralyzed. We're completely obvious.

"I'm sorry-" I say, but Elsa-

"It's fine."

Frozen limbs are stiff. Eyes wide, tracking each other's blushes and features. I'm on fire. I am bare. Stripped down. My arms instantly fly to my hat to pull the bill down over my eyes. My lip is red with teeth marks.

It's a moment of complete silence, me and Elsa, staring at each other with such intrigue. It's all out in the open now. Nothing is hidden.

Suddenly Elsa is climbing down the bus' steps, retrieving some gear and bringing it down to the field. The whole while I'm watching her and with my cheeks flushed completely red.

She kissed me back.

I join some of the Panthers watching the Snowflakes. Their throws are perfection. Hats tilted in unison. They were ideally, the perfect, well equipped team. And it must have been such a sight, to see us, the panthers, a scrawny little team with barely matching uniforms, against these private school champions.

We weren't afraid. No.

We were angry.

Still angry.

The ump starts the game. We take our positions. But all eyes are on our pitcher. As Elsa steps out onto the diamond, we can feel the tension rise to an almost unbearable level.

"You're okay," I mouth to her when she turns to meet my eye, but once she turns back around, the Snowflakes' leader is back at the plate, twirling her bat. Then, suddenly, dropping it to the ground, just like her jaw.

The Snowflakes are stock still. Glaring at Elsa. At us. The ump is blowing the whistle, shouting at us to start. But really, it's the moment we've all been waiting for.

I knew this would happen the moment I signed up.

"We found you Elsa!" The leader cries out with laughter.

She doesn't respond. But Elsa seems stronger. I think the kiss may have helped.

The coaches are screaming at us to stop talking and to play. But, god, we're not listening. When did we ever listen?

It's silent suddenly. And then like a pack of wild dogs, the Snowflakes attack.

It's a frenzy of dust and screaming at first. Two teams clash in the middle. My main goal is to find Elsa, protect her, because just before the dust was blown up I saw, for a flash of a second, the Snowflakes' leader readying a punch to my potential girlfriend. And that strikes absolute fear in my heart as I search through the mass of bodies and dust and screeching.

Fists are flying.

Bats are being thrown.

There's this horrible wailing noise, like someone just got seriously injured, and I pray to god its not someone from my team.

Our coaches are screaming, adults are dragging the girls back with force, but to no avail. We're too angry. Too proud. Too damn passionate.

This isn't a damn game.

This was never a damn fucking game-

"Elsa!" I scream, and then a blow is thrown to my back.

I drop to the ground, groaning in pain, my hand flies to my back but then a kick is shot to my ribs-

I flash of feet blurs my vision, and Lauren is suddenly hovering over me punching some girl in the face with a loud grunt. The screaming is too much to bear. I think closing my eyes would make it all just go away.

It's absolute chaos.

And then I see her. Past the dust and violence-

Elsa's so far away. I can barely see her blond hair flying around. I'm too busy dodging a few blows from an aluminum bat to even search for her.

She glances over at me and runs. She runs for her life. I don't think I've ever seen her run that fast before, and it's to me of all people-

"Els-"

I feel this sort of terrible, shot of lightening strike my leg.

Then another to my ribs.

Another to the back of my head.

The last thing I see is the most gruesome look on Elsa's face. It was the expression she bore that night we both got beaten in the woods. It's dark. Unholy. A terrible damn sight. No one with a face that beautiful should ever take on such a horribly mean look. She was a demon suddenly. A growing, carnivorous beast. An animal. I saw fire in her eyes. The grit in her jaw. I was afraid she would kill someone. Judging by that look, Elsa could kill someone.

I don't remember much after that other then sweet, sweet darkness.

And the affirmation that Elsa was right. We should have all just stayed home. I feel this shock of guilt. Then I'm gone.


End file.
